


Needs, Wants & Yearnings

by adabsolutely



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 17:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adabsolutely/pseuds/adabsolutely
Summary: You can't always get what you want.  But you can interfere when you need.Many thanks to Mackiedockie for her editing, encouragement, and friendship.





	Needs, Wants & Yearnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hafital](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hafital/gifts).



 

Needs, Wants & Yearnings

  
  


Quiet men sometimes ramble when speaking on the telephone.  Duncan listened patiently as Matthew got around to asking what really plagued his mind.  Finally, “Your friend, that old doctor -- used to go by Ben Adams -- we need his help.”

“Adam is notoriously unhelpful.”

“That’s not how I remember the doc.  Tell him I’ll buy him a case of beer.”

“That could work.”

“I’ll let Amanda explain the details when she gets there.”

“Thanks for the warning!”  

Duncan heard a deep chuckle just before his cell phone connection ended.  He wondered what mischief Amanda planned to let loose on him and he found himself rather glad of the prospect.   _It’s been too quiet._

During the first two decades of the new millennium Duncan had lived quietly, no longer in the apartment above the dojo, but in a newly built house on a tree lined street near Seacouver Bay.  An unusually calm existence for MacLeod, he sold antiques online without a storefront, maintaining a day-to-day routine with no surprises, which was desirable to a point, until the desire faded.  

He turned back to his computer work.   _Too quiet_.

  
  


The hospital reeked of antiseptic, a child in the waiting area cried softly, and a drunk shouted in a nearby exam room while Dr. Adams finished entering notes into his last patient’s chart. His private phone chimed with an odd text from his favorite bartender that aroused his curiosity.  When the incoming duty nurse promised to find a bed on the medical floor for an elderly patient he wanted admitted, he felt secure in leaving at the end of his shift at Seacouver Community Hospital’s ER.

Toward the final days of the last century he had reinvented himself once again.  He moved to Portland to attend Oregon Health & Science medical school and returned to practicing medicine after several decades of missing it, with only the occasional bullet to remove from Joe to keep his art sharp.

The timing seemed like destiny when the ER position in Seacouver became available.  A hospital emergency room large enough to provide interesting cases, but not so large (as Seattle) to burn out quickly.  The move back north had the bonus of providing the stimulating company of his favorite Watcher, Joseph Dawson, and his least annoying immortal friend, Duncan MacLeod.  The latter who had still not changed his identity. Dang kid needed small “w” watching.

  
  


B. B. King’s guitar cried from the bar’s sound system as Joe Dawson once again refused to give information to his guests about Dr. Adams, while refreshing their drinks.  

Joe had spent years Watching, in the formal sense, and patiently waiting for MacLeod to move on and reinvent himself.  As far as the Watchers were concerned, Dawson could trail the dangerous immortal until doomsday. Personally, Joe was in hopes that the Highlander would have a run at a warmer dryer environment that would be easier on Joe’s joints and attitude.  Not that the Pacific Northwest wasn’t beautiful in a rainy rainforest way, but there comes a time when the blues fretwork would benefit from some southern warmth.

“You can’t call him at the hospital.  Leave him a message on his private phone.”  Joe repeated.

“He doesn’t answer.”

Joe noticed as his guests both reacted and looked up toward the tavern entrance, _oh boy,_ as Methos walked in the door and wandered over to them.

“Hey Joe! You wanted to see me?”

“No.  I told you to stay away.”

“Well your texting skills….”  Turning to Joe’s company, “So, hi guys.  You’re the trouble I’m to avoid?”

“That’s what they tell me,”  Amanda replied as Methos kissed her cheek.

He patted Duncan’s shoulder and declared,  “It’s been -- days!” Sat in an empty chair.

Joe made a back of the throat grumble.

“Joseph, maybe you should look at it as me keeping them out of trouble, instead of them dragging me into mischief?” Joe’s serious expression did not change.

‘It’s not like I bring trouble everytime I come to town!” Amanda protested with a charming smile.  

Joe made no attempt to to hide a look of incredulity.  Methos hid his reaction with his, _I’m so parched,_ sigh.

“How about we go for a drive and talk?” Duncan gave him his best innocent smile, which occasionally worked on his friend.

“Well let me drink a beer first.”

“Sure.”  

Joe asked, “What would you like?”

“Surprise me!”

“I have a nice hazelnut liqueur….”

“Oh lovely! But how about a Total Domination IPA instead?”

“Beer it is.”

The whole time he sipped his brew it was obvious that his immortal friends were antsy to make off with him on some mad scheme that was liable to be risky, and perhaps thrilling.  

  
  


Once Methos had slid into the backseat of MacLeod’s hybrid sedan, Amanda twisted around to ask him, “Joe seemed so solemn tonight….”

“He - I. Ah.  My girlfriend and I split up recently.  Joe thought, er, probably thinks I might be presently vulnerable to your wilder scams.  I guess.”

“Sorry to hear.”  Duncan offered.

“It’s fine.”

“Why did she leave you?”

“Amanda! He doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Yes he does! He needs someone to listen.” Turning her head to again look at him, she found Methos stretched across the whole of the backseat.  “You know Duncan will get a ticket if we’re stopped and you don’t have your seat belt fastened?”

“I’ll survive.”

Duncan spoke up, “Really Doc, we don’t want any excuse for us to be stopped.”

“Hmm, Joe was right. What sort of mischief are we up to?”

“So what was her name?”

“Amanda! He doesn’t want to talk about that.”

“It’s OK, Mac.  Her name was Jane. Smart. Ambitious. Mac introduced us. She recently decided to run for the mayor’s office.”

“That Jane.  Jane O’Callahan?”

“Yes.  My reluctance to be in the limelight set off alarms….”

“Well I don’t think I like her,” Amanda said.

“You would’ve liked her, Amanda.  She’s spunky like you. Now, if I may turn the subject back to where we are going, which seems to be out of town?”

“I have a new job!” Duncan said.

“Great, Mac! I’ve been wishing you would change things up.  People will begin to notice you remain the same.”

“Notice my distinguished gray highlights?”

“Lovely.  Now about the subject we are avoiding --,” an awful thought occurred to Methos to do with the news bulletin he’d heard early in his shift.  “Tell me you’re not involved with the disappearance of the immigrant children from custody?”

“No no,” Amanda assured.  “That was Cory. I work a different -.”

“Stop the car! You mentioned Cory’s name!”

“Amanda!” Duncan shouted, but continued driving.

“He was going to find out anyway.  And Methos, this won’t involve Cory.  Or at least you won’t see him. This patient isn’t one of those children.”

“Patient? What’s wrong?”

“We hope you can figure that out.”

Accepting that he would get nothing more that was useful from his dissembling friends, he relaxed and accepted his fate.  Tired to the bone as he was, his thoughts drifted.

When Methos awoke and found they had parked near a small country church he was mildly surprised.  “Who’s getting married?” he asked brightly, but failed to entice a smile out of either of his traveling companions.

“The clinic is in back,” Duncan explained. A single street light illuminated the path between the church and parsonage.  Behind the old wooden structure was a modern brick addition with a light on at the door.

Amanda knocked and identified herself, “It’s Amanda, Father Luke.”  

They were ushered in by a tired looking mortal in his late 50’s or early 60’s with a kind but world weary face.  “Amanda, Duncan! And this must be your friend Dr. Adams.”

Methos shook hands and shared his most trustworthy smile with the priest.  “They tell me there is a patient. Can I help, Father?”

Father Luke nodded and led them into the maze of the clinic, turning through a series of halls.  As they went Amanda slipped a small leather bag into Methos’ hand.

When the priest stopped at a door and started to open it Amanda told him, “I’ll wait here, Father.  I may be coming down with a cold.”

The three men entered a large exam room which included several empty beds and one occupied crib.  Duncan remained near the door while the priest and doctor approached the small patient.

“Still awake little one! We call her Frances.”

Methos examined her, “A very healthy looking infant, maybe nine months old.”  She held up her arms and arched her back to be picked up. Seeing no sign of injury or disease, Methos obliged. As he lifted her he felt the faint thrum of a pre-immortal.  

Dr. Adams smiled at Father Luke.  “What seems to be the complaint?”

The priest looked a bit embarrassed.  “She’s perfectly healthy. But her DNA does not match any of the parents in our database.  Amanda and Duncan thought that you might be able to check - recheck - maybe a different database.”

The foundling was happily tugging Methos’ nose and babbling.  

“Of course.  I can do that.”

Methos handed the baby over to Father Luke, and then, with nary a hesitation, extracted a DNA test kit from the leather bag Amanda had thoughtfully provided him, and quickly swabbed the inside of the baby’s cheek.  “I’ll see what I can do to find a match.”

“Thank you!”

The immortals returned in silence to the car, and Methos began his summation as soon as the doors closed.  “So you brought me here to confirm the foundling is pre-immortal.”

“Yes.  I thought I sensed it at first cuddle, but then Duncan came near and I wondered if, well, I just imagined it, and Duncan couldn’t sense her at all.  Same with Matthew and Cory. She’s so little still.”

Methos nodded.  “I felt it as I picked her up.  In a few years all of us will feel it.”

Silence reigned as each considered the infant’s future.

“Well I’m not going to run her DNA in any other databases.”

“No. Best not,” Duncan agreed.  “But you can reassure Father Luke that everything was done to find her family.  That way he will let her be adopted.”

Miles drifted by.

Duncan broke the silence first, “I never know if it’s a good thing to interfere, or better to let mortal parents raise them without interfering. When Claudia so obviously needed a good music education -- I had to help.”

Amanda nodded.  “That was helpful.  Without Rachel I would never have survived. But sometimes….”

“You have to be careful to not bring danger their way,” Methos attempted to finish her thought.  “So what happens after I tell Father Luke there are no matches for Frances?”

Amanda answered, “Father Luke will talk to Matthew, and then I don’t know.  In the morning I’ll get a message to Matthew and Cory confirming she’s pre-immortal.”

“I’ll wait a week or so -- the end of my next work week to call the Father.”

“You have a couple days off, Doc?” Duncan asked.

“I do.  And I plan to sleep through them.”

“No.  Come practice --.”

“Mac --.”

“No whinging.  You gotta keep up!”

  
  


The next afternoon Duncan popped by Joe’s to talk.  It was their lag time, with the lunch crowd gone and the set up for the evening band proceeding.  Joe left his crew to finish and sat with his friend, providing a couple beers at the back corner table they preferred.

“So you survived the Amanda expedition.”

Duncan smiled, laughed.  “Yes, it was a very small problem.”

“Yeah?”

“Our favorite doctor estimates she is about nine months old.”

“A baby immortal?” Making the wild leap of reasoning that only a Watcher would do.

“No.  But she will be someday.  That’s why we dragged Doc along.  It’s hard to feel at that age.”

“Dang.”

“She doesn’t have a family, of course.”

“How does that work?” Joe sipped his beer, thinking it couldn’t be a happy story.

“How does the old woman appear with a foundling to replace a stillborn?” Alluding to his own story.  “I don’t know, Joe. It’s a secret no one’s ever let me in on.”

“I’ve read accounts -- contradictory accounts -- in old journals.  Amazing lies.”

Duncan laughed and choked a bit on his beer.  “You don’t believe everything you read?”

“Never have, never will.”  They raised their glasses in salute.

“Joe, is it in your purview to keep track of pre-immortals?”

“Occasionally.  Usually we don’t know of them, of course.  But sometimes when watching an immortal interact with a child we suspect that the child might be pre-immortal.  Immortals such as Rebecca -- or you! Who take interest in a child’s upbringing.”

“So if you knew where they were you could keep an eye on them with your network.”

“That’s the key, knowing where they are.”

  
  


After a day of sleep and catch up chores, Methos gave into the lure of sword play with Duncan and met him east of Seacouver at the small airfield and hangar that Duncan had purchased after selling the dojo.  It was a good space for sword practice with lots of obstacles to leap over.

“We should do more practice on uneven ground.” Duncan said as he made the first lunge.

They clanged about, kantana against broadsword, starting slowly, talking in between beats.

“So how deeply are you involved in Matthew and Cory’s railroad?” Circling around the wing of the Piper Cub.

“Oh, I’m just learning to drive spikes so far.”

“Matthew is the conductor?”

Methos continued back-footing around the plane, only countering Duncan’s thrusts when necessary.

“Do you avoid Matthew -- too?”

“Nah, Matthew just sees me as an old country doctor who will treat anyone.  Even his horse.”

Duncan stopped advancing.  “That’s a story I want to hear.  I’m not following you through the barrels again.”

Methos struck and Duncan parried.  A flurry of strikes and counter strikes heated up their practice level.  The key, always trying to surprise each other, avoiding the telegraphed moves.  And rearranging the clutter.

Separately, between practices, they snuck in and moved things around inside the hangar.  Often Methos’ unstated reluctance to practice was that he hadn’t had the chance to be the last one to mix things up.  Mostly Duncan won that one.

“So the horse story?”

“Oh same old story, military man attached to his horse, country doctor with a timely suggestion.  Mouse removing the thorn from the lion’s paw.”

“Matthew is too smart to mistake you for a mouse.”  Charging forward.

Back footing.  “True. He knew I wasn’t a young thing. The feeling of my signature or buzz -- if you will -- it feels different to some immortals.”

“Yeah, buzzier.”

Methos laughed, tripped over a rope coil, fell.  “Ouch!” Dropped sword.

Duncan jerked Methos to his feet grasping his shirt at the neck, did not let go, instead pulled him in close and kissed his mouth.  A salty out-of-breath kiss. “Rattling.” He let go the shirt.

“What?” Methos breathed again.

“Your buzz.”  

Smiling, but serious, “If you could feel how yours feels to me, Mac -- like skiing down an endless mountain.”

Duncan laid down his sword so that they could embrace in a full body hug.

“We have a stench, reminiscent of horses,” Methos noted.

“Another time? Or do you care?”

“Not about the salty smell, but the hard ground, a bit.  A better location later?”

“Soon.  Shall we dance?  
They picked up their swords and continued practicing until first blood.

  
  


At the end of another four days of twelve hour hospital shifts, Methos returned to Joe’s Bar for beer therapy after closing hours.  Joe brought over a flight of beer samples from a local micro brewery that he wanted the doctor’s opinion on and so they settled in.

“About this baby, Joe, it’s not the usual thing for the Watchers to keep an eye on pre-immortals.”

“True, but occasionally.  We don’t usually know, of course.”

“Until someone like MacLeod leads you to them.”

“It’s deja vu all over again.”

“So Mac’s already been here.”

“I expect Amanda any time now.”

“Amanda is trying very hard to distance herself.  She cares, but knows the price.”

“Duncan, well --.”

“Yes.  So much heart, and the need to protect.”  Methos sighed.

“True. The clan chief’s son.  I chose to stay watching him as my retirement assignment. So much for peace and quiet.”  

“Good Watchers never retire.  So you’ll keep an eye on the little one?”

“If the baby is in my vicinity, I can help.  If you think that’s best.”

“I haven’t been asked to think.”

“That’s never stopped you.”

“Of all the players in this little heartbreak, Joe, I think you are the most likely to do that tough thing -- not interfere unless absolutely necessary.  You’ll let her be a kid. Let her have fun, grow, make mistakes, and not call Auntie Amanda if she misbehaves.”

“I got ya.”

  
  


Cory showed up at Father Luke’s doorstep with new documents and a destination.  Father Luke argued about the means of transportation, not being a fan of small planes.  Cory explained how wonderful the family was and eager to adopt Frances.

When Amanda arrived, a few minutes late, Father Luke was promoting the benefit of a nice drive to the dock and taking the ferry over to Vancouver Island, while Cory argued that the difference in the amount of time would be easier on Frances, whom after all, had been through so much lately.  Amanda nudged them along, piling baby supplies into her car and installing the carrier in the backseat. Father Luke blessed the little girl, and off Amanda and baby went, leaving Father Luke and Cory staring after them.

  
  


Duncan and Methos had fueled and completed the safety check on the Piper Cub when Amanda arrived.  A weight box was installed under the carrier seat so that Frances was heavy enough that Amanda could pilot from the front.  Methos insisted on plugging in the bottle warmer and seeing that the infant had a half bottle of milk before the flight. “She’ll sleep.”

“She’ll puke.”

“Fly gently.”

“I wish you’d go with me, Methos.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ll be there before we get to the ferry.  The parents can’t meet Duncan and I if we’re going to pop into the area now and then.  Your idea.”

“We’ll meet you at the Empress in Victoria tonight,” Duncan reassured her.

With the carrier installed, and the baby gear stashed, they took off on the next leg of Frances’s adventure.  The small plane taxied and lifted from the field then goose wobbled upward. A little rain fell.

  
  


They watched until they lost the sight and the _aarrr_ of the Piper Cub, then tossed their gear into Amanda’s Subaru.  Their own vehicles they left locked inside the hangar.

Duncan drove first, taking I-5 south to the Seattle terminal where they loaded into the belly of the ferry that crossed Puget Sound to Bremerton.  Up top level they bought coffee, sat on the rear facing chairs to watch the water wake and the calling seagulls following behind them as Seattle receded.  In the Bremerton harbor they took the time to watch the overhaul of naval vessels, despite the rain, before continuing.

“I like it here.  It’s in the rain shadow of the Olympic Range.”

Methos answered only with a side-eye glance and a raised brow.

Methos took the driver’s seat next, heading north then west along the rim of the Olympic Peninsula.  The air, scented of fir, hemlock, and cedar, soothed them.

“Look quick! The sun is shining. See?” Duncan sold the setting.

At a small, stand-alone cafe they stopped for a lunch that promised hamburgers huge enough to satisfy Bigfoot.  

  
  


Amanda flew across the Straight on what started as an average day.  Sun/clouds, calm/ windy, rain/rain, and rain.

Somewhere in the middle of the journey Amanda thought, while listening to Frances bilingual babble, of turning their direction toward the mainland to a small field in Surrey, BC.  A new start for both of them. Together. But the fantasy flickered and died as she fought the turbulence.

She inhaled and tightened her grip, calling on a hundred years of piloting to push past panic.

The landing at a small field between Nanaimo and Ladysmith was as perfect as Amanda could pull off in the pouring rain.  Frances had neither slept nor puked during the flight but kept up her stream of babbling, reassuring Amanda that the young one had not been terrorized by the flight and that she was destined to be a world class talker.  

“You won’t know hunger I promise,” she whispered to Frances when she handed her over to the waiting couple.  Frances, who had been trying to catch rain drops in her tiny hands, dimpled at the fortysomething French Canadian woman taking her into her open arms.  The joy that the couple expressed made Amanda glad of the rain hiding her own tears. _C’est comme il se doit._ It's as it should be.

  
  


The Piper Cub still had enough avgas for the short flight to Victoria, where Amanda checked in with customs then hired a taxi to take her to the Empress hotel in time for tea.

  
  


Duncan and Methos arrived in Port Angeles in time to catch the late afternoon ferry to Victoria. The crossing felt wilder, more like the open Pacific than the placid crossing of Puget Sound. The rain was now unrelenting.

Methos spent the crossing teasing Duncan with a story that sounded suspiciously like Noah’s Ark adapted by Alfred Hitchcock.  

  
  


Jazz piano played in an adjoining room, the aroma of bread baking, and the sight of Amanda in her glory greeted them as they were shown into the Empress dining room.

“Sorry we kept you waiting!” Duncan leaned down to kiss her cheek.  He and Methos seated themselves either side of Amanda.

“Not at all, I’ve kept busy.”

“Oh dear!” Methos exaggerated.

“Never fear, I’m done with you two, for now.”

“Abandoning us!”

“But who knows when I’ll pop in again.  How was the drive?”

“Good, in a rain soaked sorta way.”

“Tell me about it! There were a couple of moments of worry as I flew over. I thought the rain wasn’t supposed to start until after I landed.  Fortunately, Frances seemed to be thrilled.”

“It must have been difficult to say goodbye to her, to Frances.”

“Yes, it was, but maybe I’ll be her teacher someday.  Did you fill up my car? I have to leave early tomorrow, first ferry.”

“No!” both men protested.

“Sorry.  I’m meeting Cory in Portland.  But I reserved the suite for the weekend.  You have a few days off don’t you, Adam?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid I’m due back tomorrow, swing shift.  And yes, we filled your car in Port Angeles. Keep at least a couple wheels on road.”

“If you insist!”

They shared a light meal, and Amanda ordered dessert to be sent to their suite.

  
  


Their suite’s spectacular view of the harbor and tasteful but comfortable furniture, including an inviting king sized bed, set an elegantly inviting stage for the immortal friends.  Duncan filled three wine flutes from a bottle of Muller Thurgau to share while they waited for the dessert to arrived.

“What did you order?” Methos asked Amanda.

“Ah, something something dark chocolate cake.”

“Sounds good.”

As if by magic command there came a tap at their door, “Room service.”

“Am I good or what?”

“The amazing Amanda,” Duncan toasted her.

And it was a splendid cake, though Amanda ate only a tiny amount before slinking over to the king size bed and stretching out, threatening to fall asleep.  Duncan promptly joined her to prevent such a catastrophe.

Methos watched as Duncan give Amanda a back massage.  He continued to savor his slice of the cake as the interaction evolved.  

Slowly, carefully, Duncan peeled off her clothing, starting with her blouse and finishing with her knickers as she hummed a Rolling Stone song.   _You can’t always get..._  He looked over at Methos and said, “There’s more to life than watching.”

“I think there’s brandy in this.”

“Methos,” Duncan’s voice gentle but firm.

“Just gathering my energy.  Let me wash away the crumbs.”  He strutted away, finally showing some proper enthusiasm.

He returned crumbless and nude, sat cross legged at a lower corner of the bed.  

“So what’s going on in that busy brain of yours?” Duncan asked.

“Just an observation.   _You_ have all your clothes on.  The rest of us are much more -- comfortable.”

“I took my shoes off!”

“Guys! Shh!”

Methos gave him a hand signal that Duncan correctly interpreted to mean he should stand and remove his clothing.  Methos stretched out beside Amanda as she turned over to watch with him as Duncan MacLeod stripped away the jeans and shirt of this century, as slowly as he could stand, emerging as the elemental Highlander.  

  
  


At sunrise the rain had stopped, at least enough for the short flight back to Seacouver.  They had mumbled goodbyes to Amanda when she abandoned their bed at an hour too early to contemplate, and then applied enough caffeine to make their journey safe.  

Halfway across the Strait, Methos remembered to ask the question that had been nagging him, “You said something about a new job, what was that about?”

From the pilot seat Duncan replied, “Well, I’ve pretty much decided to take the leap.  I’m going to law school. Which college would you recommend? No place too flashy. Here in the Northwest.  What do you think?”

“You’ve lost your mind.”

“You’ve been a lawyer.  How hard can it be?”

“Does the line, ‘First kill all the lawyers,’ ring a bell?”

“Will was _such_ a drama queen.”

“Has this to do with Matthew’s current gig?”

“Might be.  So what school?”

“Peter A. Allard School of Law, UBC.”

“Thank you.”

  
  


(the end, until the next fall)

  
  


“Vancouver! For crying on a crutch, Mac!” Joe glanced around his Seacover bar, missing it already.  “I can understand wanting to go back to school, but do you know how much it rains in Vancouver?”

“Sixty-two point five inches annually.”

“Lord have mercy.”

“But it hardly ever snows! Or at least it melts fast. You’ll love it, Joe!”

“Vancouver does have some nice music venues,” Joe muttered.

“That’s the spirit!”

“Am I ever going to get my days in the sun?”

Duncan shrugged then sang a bit of a song off key “... _you get what you need!”_

  
  


(end)


End file.
